Page 11 of Ruinous Need

VIKTOR

I NEED TO cure myself of this unhealthy obsession.

Before it kills us both.

I may have developed a habit. Pulling up the video feed of Lisette in the apartment. Watching her clear the lounge furniture away so she can dance. She seems to enjoy herself in my absence. Luring Merc and Ben in to talk to her with freshly cooked meals.

I need to keep tabs on her for security, of course. Do I need the feed of her bedroom running while I fall asleep? That’s debatable.

I don’t think she’s figured out that the windows are smart glass with embedded cameras. She did a few searches, initially looking inside every corner as though she was expecting to find a standard CCTV camera. It’s not the 90s anymore, sweetheart. That’s what I’ll say to her. If she asks.

“What are you looking at?” Markov asks me with narrowed eyes.

I jolt out of the feed, where Lisette is bending down into a graceful stretch. The SUV is stationary. We’re no longer driving. And Markov has definitely seen what I was studying on the tablet.

I swipe the tablet clear. “Security protocols,” I say under my breath. “Back at the apartment. I got an alert.”

He doesn’t comment, but I know he’s too smart to buy such half-assed bullshit. I don’t need Markov’s approval, but I do feel a hint of panic that he’s going to report my erratic behavior before I finish my mission.

“You should probably revise the house plans. We don’t want you distracted.”

I bristle at his implication but swallow it down. He’s right. I shouldn’t walk into this job without a full understanding of what we’re up against.

Another swipe and I’m looking at the plans of the house along with our file of faces we’re likely to encounter.

We’re on shaky ground over this side of the city — the Argentinian cartel will either welcome us in for a beer or shoot first and ask questions later.

I’m hoping it’s the latter. I don’t want to have to smile and play nice when all I want is one piece of information.

I will not get it wrong, even if it means wiping their entire cartel out of the city. This could be the final piece of the puzzle so we can track him down.

Yuri Petrov. The former council member who’s supposedly hiding out down in Argentina, on a ranch.

He was second in command to the former Pakhan. If I get him… We’re close.

We’re way out in the suburbs, looking at a nondescript stucco house. It could be a family home, if it wasn’t for the constant stream of men with slicked back hair and expensive sports cars coming and going.

Their security protocols aren’t great, or they would have laid eyes on us. Black bulletproof SUVs might be commonplace in some parts of New York but out here? We stick out like a sore thumb.

The Argentinian cartel is not affiliated with the Bratva — not since Yuri’s day, at least — but they cut deals with us when they need to move their drug supplies through New York. They also cut deals with anyone else.

It’s not an exclusive relationship, leaving us unsure how they’ll react. Although one thing is for sure, as the Bratva’s top assassin, no one is ever happy to see me.

I smirk at the thought. That’s the reputation I’ve cultivated. That’s the reputation that was handed to me. Days like this, I appreciate it.

In situations like this one, I know how to use it to my advantage. I can play the unhinged madman when I need to. But my opponents would be stupid to think I’m out of control.

I nod at Markov, who will have already memorized the complete file like the professional he is.

“Viktor Zakharov. Is it my final day on earth?”

Manuel blows a kiss to the sky melodramatically from the back porch. He seems drunk — and in a good mood.

I was hoping for a gunshot. Instead, I force a polite smile.

“No. But it might be your lucky day, Manuel.”

He widens his grin and gestures for us to come inside. “Alright then. Let’s talk. I like a lucky day. Much more than I like a last one.”

Markov follows warily as I step through the door. The house which looked plain on the outside is the opposite inside.

We walk into a party.Bass-heavy music fills the house, topless women walk through the crowds of people speaking Spanish with trays of drinks.

The heat is blasting. The inside of the house is all silk and gold furnishings, plush furniture and large rooms that are the total opposite of a quaint family home.

It takes about half an hour for us to make our way upstairs where we can talk privately, with a stream of men and women pulling him into conversations while Markov and I stand by with stony faces.

I know it would be a bad idea to point a gun at Manuel’s head when the party is heaving with cartel members but I’m tempted, if only to speed things up.

Finally, I physically drag him away from a loud woman clad in leopard print with a hand on his shoulder. He stops jabbering and looks wounded.

“What’s the rush?” he asks me. “Have a drink and relax, Viktor. It cannot be that serious.”

I press my lips together. “Your office, Manuel.”

I try to concentrate on Manuel’s small-talk but it breezes around my head and out the window. Not sticking. Not making any kind of impression on me. He leads me into an office that sparkles with gold. Pictures of Manuel and his millions of children are everywhere.

I just want to get this over and done with so I can go back to the apartment.

And see Lisette.

That’s the truth.

Instead, I’m making a joke about another of Manuel’s girlfriends looking like she’s half his age. He gives a great laugh from his belly and pours me glass of red wine.

I hate wine, but I sip it out of respect and comment on the taste.

“So.” He reclines back in his chair and folds his hands over his round belly. “What is it you’re looking for, Viktor? You don’t normally talk with words. Only guns. And knives, if what I hear is true.”

“I have travel plans. To Argentina.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Lovely. It will be summer there. For what?”

“This man. Yuri Petrov.” I show him Yuri’s headshot but he waves it away.

“I remember Yuri. He was our liaison with the Bratva, back before your cousin took over. When things were a little more amenable.”

“I remember him too. Not in such a good light.”

“Mm.” Manuel narrows his eyes. “And what do you want from me, Viktor?”

“I’d like your help in tracking him down. And arranging mercenaries.”

“You’re going to war?” His eyes sparkle.

“Not quite. But knowing Yuri, it will feel like I am.”

“And what can we expect in exchange?”

“You can have our business for the next year. We’ll store and move whatever you’ve got, guaranteed. As long as you’re selling at a fair market rate.”

He purses his lips together, but he can’t hide the greed sparkling in his eyes. It’s a good deal. Better than good.

“What if I can’t find Yuri?”

I shrug at him. “Then there’s no deal. And I might have to come back, but what you said earlier? Your last day? It will be that day.”

Manuel swallows. “I see.”

“And, make it quick, Manuel. I’d like to wrap everything up soon.”

He nods quickly and drains his glass of wine.

As we’re about to head out the door, he calls out. I turn back.

“Wait! I know things between you and the Bratva are better now, with your cousin in charge. But if you are looking for something to do on the side…”

Then he hands me a picture of Lisette.

My blood runs cold. I channel all my effort into freezing my facial expression so my mouth doesn’t drop open in shock.

“Who’s this? Another girlfriend?” I force my face into a smile.

“No. Somebody who could be worth a lot of money to the Irish. A man with your resources…” He gestures, hands out. “You’d have an excellent shot at tracking her down.”

I feign interest. “What do they want with her?”

He shrugs. “No idea.”

On the drive back, I talk to Markov about the escalating risks.

I didn’t want to do it, but with all these attacks on Lisette, one guard plus me is not enough. I need a guard, but clearly Lisette does too. We’re going to need another line of defense.

Daria Sulikova. A stone-cold killer who rivals Markov and me.

And… Semyon’s ex. Kind of. A head-spinningly toxic relationship, that one. It was always going to end in flames, and it did. The two of them don’t really possess enough emotions combined to form any kind of approximation of a human relationship. They’re both empty shells of human beings.

But Daria is a damned good guard.

I don’t like her. I don’t always approve of her methods. I do respect her.

Because, even after everything she went through with Semyon, she’s still loyal to the Bratva.

Blind loyalty is what we need right now, while it feels like the other mobs are like sharks circling bait.

Daria’s not going to let Semyon’s fiancée be kidnapped without at least doing some damage to whoever tries to take Lisette.